


rose-colored boy (phan)

by coffeeandcatwhiskers



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Anxiety, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Lowercase, M/M, Medication, Paramore (Band), Poetry, Songfic, Therapy, dan and phil are coworkers, pessimism, they definitely kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcatwhiskers/pseuds/coffeeandcatwhiskers
Summary: "but hearts are breaking. the wars are raging on, and i have taken my glasses off."in which phil thinks dan could use a dash of sunshine and dan thinks phil could shove it, but frankly, dan appreciates phil’s adorable reckless optimism.also, they work together in a bookstore.also, dan has the largest crush in the world on phil, but his deteriorating pessimism gets the best of him on the daily and he acts super rude to try and put the idea of ever loving phil out of the question.based on the song rose-colored boy by paramore.





	1. Chapter 1

“oh, edgar allan, you damaged soul, you.” the old book smell wafts through the air as dan flips through each fragile page of the poetry book.

“whatcha doin’ over there, howell?” the overly-northern voice penetrates the otherwise silent surrounding atmosphere. dan can’t help but groan in response.   
“reading edgy poetry, avoiding you. what’s going on with you,  _ lester _ ?”

“oh, you know. helping fifteen-year-olds figure out which books they should read for honours english and watching them settle on harry potter for the fifteenth time in the semester, as well as bothering you.”

“sounds lovely.” a pallid, somewhat-skeletal hand exhaustedly runs its course through a shamble of disarrayed brunet curls.

“i guess you could say that. do you want to go get coffee after our shift?”   
“i would, except that i don’t want to.” dan places the edgar allan poe collection back on the shelf, careful to not bend the book’s aging spine. 

“aw, why not?”   
“your bubbliness bothers me, phil. nobody wants to spend time with me, and i’d like if it would stay that way.”

“well, what do you have waiting for you at home?”

“partially-cooked ramen and a stovetop kettle with which i’ll make some earl grey before sleeping peacefully.”   
“how is that better than coffee with your  _ favourite _ coworker?”   
“you’re the only coworker who makes conversation with me. doesn’t make you my favourite, y’know?”

“who’s your favourite then?”   
“myself. now leave me alone so i can clock out.” phil frowns, realizing that his overjoyed attempts to get through to the oversized, 80’s-esque sweater clad boy across the aisle from him may be futile. 

 

phil figures that he should just try again tomorrow.

 

dan doesn’t care what happens tomorrow, to be quite honest.

 

\---

 

on his sectional sofa that’s far too gigantic for anything he’d ever be doing, dan sits sobbing with his sweater pulled comfortably over his knees. his nails are freshly painted black; his face is all red and blotted with shades of tulip and sunset. all the lights in the flat are off, and he plans on falling asleep like this.

 

all of this just because the handle on his kettle broke. 

 

his phone lights up occasionally with notifications, all of which are from phil.

 

**dan**

**dan dan**

**dannnnnnnnnnnn**

**dan**

**are you awake? it’s only seven**

**maybe i should leave you alone**

**i’m real sorry if i bother you**

**its just. idk**

**i like talking to you bc you’re like, my only work friend**

_ god _

_ what is it _

**i wanted to check if you’d like to go for coffee now.**

_ you know, i’d normally turn you down.  _

_ my kettle broke and i just need some caffeine.  _

_ sbux in 20? _

**oh, i never thought you’d say yes!**

**i’ll grab my wallet**

**guess i’ll see you there!!**

 

dan regains his composure and pockets his phone. if he’s being entirely honest, he doesn’t need caffeine; what he needs is sleep. something in the boy’s head tells him that he’s just going to bring phil down the whole time he’s around him. 

 

the curly-haired, sweater-wearing bookkeeper can’t help but admire his sunbeam of a counterpart, because no matter how many times dan’s managed to turn phil down, he keeps trying. it’s like phil is duckie from pretty in pink and dan is andie, only that dan isn’t 80’s molly ringwald and phil doesn’t dress like a moron. 

 

there they are, awkwardly sat across from each other, drinking their overly sugared, overly caffeinated beverages. 

 

“are you okay, dan?”

“what makes you ask?”   
“seeing as how that wasn’t a yes, i’m going to take it as a no. what’s got you bothered?”   
“you’re not a therapist.”   
“but i care a lot, and you look like you’ve been crying. that, or you’re allergic to pollen and a bunch of bees-”   
“i promise, i’m fine. can we just drink coffee and not have conversation?”

“hmm. i guess.” phil takes a sip of his strawberries and cream frappe, which he ordered with a nitro lid because “ _ turtles are important, dan, and we need to save them. this is only the beginning of a long process. _ ” dan finds that about as sweet as the macchiato he’s practically chugging just for the sake of warmth.

 

dan can’t tell phil that, no matter how hard he tries. he simply can’t state that he enjoys listening to the boy speak, especially when he gets passionate about something. his face gets a little warm at the edges, and his brows do this cute furrowy thing. dan watches everything phil does when he’s around because, as stated previously, he  _ admires _ him without meaning to. ever since the boys started working together, even, dan’s been fixated on the idea of phil’s cheery nature. 

 

phil’s jet black locks (which, lately, he’s started a quiff with) contrast from all the warmth radiating from within his all-too-wholesome heart. dan’s just got his curly hair (which, always, he thinks is boring) and his normal brown eyes (which match his hair, so naturally, they’re boring too), so he doesn’t understand what about himself could ever be  _ pleasant _ . he doesn’t have a terribly prominent personality, he’s always hated everything about himself and the world around him, and his favourite thing to do is read. to make a long story short, everything about existing bores dan down to his very core. phil’s always entertained by something, whether it’s the rain or sun, birds or bees, flowers or trees,  _ all that exists _ . the world makes phil happy, and dan could never be more envious of anyone for anything.

 

“dan? you seem distracted.”   
“i’m fine. i might order more coffee. it’s good.”

“do you usually drink macchiatos?”   
“oh, yeah. they’re the only drink i order here.”   
“you’re weird.”   
“everything is terrifying when you can’t predict it. i like keeping all the things i do in the same order, that way i don’t have to change any of it.”   
“change can be good. this is the first time i’ve ever gotten one of these frappes and it’s the best thing i’ve ever consumed.”

“you stick to what you like and i’ll stick to what i like.”

“do you  _ like _ lying around, eating ramen and drinking earl grey until you fall asleep every single night?” dan remains quiet, unsure of whether phil’s words were meant to sound malicious or not. “that’s what i thought. maybe we could do this more often, dan?”   
“what?”   
“coffee after work. not after every shift, of course. just occasionally, that way you don’t get bored.”

“oh. that sounds okay.”   
“are you ever going to let anything be more than just that?”   
“than just what?”   
“okay. it’s so… mediocre.”   
“fine, phil. it sounds nice. how about tomorrow we do this again, that way i don’t have to remove myself from the comforts and confines of my well air-conditioned flat upon immediate demand?”   
“that sounds better than doing it because you’re forced, i suppose.” he checks his watch, eyes widening when he sees the time. “i have to go, dan. i’ve got dinner plans with someone important. i’ll catch you tomorrow at work, alright?”

“hmm? oh. uh. yeah. tomorrow. bye.”

 

phil left dan to go eat dinner with  _ someone important. _

does that mean dan’s not important?

 

this sends dan into an obsessive mental clamor, during which he takes his remaining coffee and heads out into the chilly london night, unsure of how to get back to his flat from here. 

 

dan’s biggest fear is that nothing about him will ever be important. for god’s sake, phil probably doesn’t even feel a smidge of what dan feels for him. dan walks into the barnes & noble every single weekday and smiles in spite of himself when he sees phil clocking in. phil probably just looks at dan and goes “oh, you again.”   
  


_ maybe dan is just in his own head too much. _

  
  



	2. i just killed off what was left of the optimist in me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phil tells dan something he doesn't want to hear, and dan's response is of the same nature to phil. 
> 
> dan also fears that he may be rubbing off on the effervescent boy.

today’s setting is almost identical to yesterday’s, only dan’s reading emily dickinson, and phil is assisting two old ladies from the local church in picking out new bible designs for the pews. once they thank him and check out, he returns to the poetry section.

 

“hey. i’m sorry i had to leave last night.”

“i’m sure it was someone with far more value to your existence than me.”

“it was my girlfriend.” dan’s heart clenches in his chest.  _ i should’ve known _ . “we’d made reservations two weeks ago. i can’t believe i let myself forget.”

“ah. did you two talk about anything fun?”   
“do you just assume i speak to everyone all the time?”   
“yeah.”

“well, we talked. it wasn’t anything fun, but it was conversation. she’s out all the time for work and i hate being alone, dan. i hate it. i basically told her that - are you even listening to me?” dan peeks his head over the top of the dickinson collection. 

“yeah. she’s out for work. you hate being alone. you’re like a puppy with separation anxiety. get on with it.” he returns to reading.

“well, i told her that there’s no point in us staying together if we’re only together for dinner and sleep.”

“so you’ve broken up with her?”   
“nah, we’re actually trying to make it work.”   
“phil, i can tell you with quite a large amount of confidence that it’s not going to work. once you consider breaking up with someone, it doesn’t leave your brain.”

“not everyone automatically thinks about how all things end in the worst way possible, dan. just because you hate everything and don’t want enjoyment in life doesn’t mean i have to be that way.”

“your impracticalities are humourous, phil. let me know how it works out for you, okay? in the meantime, i’ll be surfing the poetry section and avoiding my problems.”

“you always do that.”   
“why should i change?” he sits the dickinson collection with the two of the same name and finds some kate chopin. it’s possible that this could be the quickest (or slowest) shift of his entire life. either way, he’s ready for when the clock on his black iphone reads 17:00. he looks forward to the very moment where he can, indeed, leave and not be pestered into being a stupid optimistic asshole.

 

“oh, phil?”   
“what, dan?” the boy’s tone has a new, somewhat unneeded sharpness to it. dan hopes he’s not rubbing off.    
“i’ve got plans tonight, so we should reschedule for coffee. just text me and let me know what time works for you.” to tell the truth, dan doesn’t have plans. he has to go to the market and buy a new kettle, but other than that, he’s just going to sit on his couch with a pint of mint-chip ice cream and rewatch shows he’s already seen more than enough on netflix. phil gives him a sad grin and walks off, probably to go scan through the vinyl section and think of which records he’d buy if he owned a player. 

 

\---

 

much to dan’s despair, the shift drags on and on. he hates working tuesdays for this reason. phil avoids him for the rest of the shift and he couldn’t be more grateful for lack of attention. as the boy heads out for the night, he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“what do you want, phil?”   
“you were right, dan. i’m thinking of every single possible thing i could just do if i wasn’t in a relationship. it’s almost like you’re a psychic or something.”   
“it’s called being realistic. you should try it sometime.”   
“you do it all the time and you’re like,  _ crazy _ sad.”

“listen, phil. it does me no good to pretend that there’s a bright side to everything. i take it all for face value, and if face value isn’t pleasant, i deal with it. i don’t create false visions in my head because, well, that wouldn’t help anyone.”   
“it helps me, dan.” phil’s voice almost sounds like it’s going to break any second, and dan can’t help but feel like he’s going to turn phil into an emotionless robot if he keeps it up.

“well, that’s fine, phil. not everyone is gifted with the kind brain that you have up in that jolly ass head of yours.”

“yeah, i know. i can’t help but hope for it to be like that, no matter how unrealistic it is.” 

“can you get your hand off my shoulder now? it’s kind of weirding me out.”   
“oh. right. sorry.” the two share an awkward laugh, heading their separate ways. phil’s off to the convenience store to buy one of those bottled starbucks frappuccinos, and dan’s off to find himself a new kettle. once he’s got the coordinates for reject pot shop in his maps, he’s navigating through streets and city blocks. the little hole-in-the-wall kitchen supply shop jumps out at dan, who is practically unaware of his surroundings. it’s not that he’s oblivious, but rather that he chooses to only see what he wants.

 

that’s the joy of pessimism, he tells himself. 

 

\---

 

he’s back in his flat now, heating up water on his stovetop and trying to decide if he even likes earl grey anymore. maybe he’ll try chamomile, that way he can sleep a little better. his phone rings, and for a second he expects for it to be phil. it’s just a telemarketer. dan’s never been the type to get his hopes up over anything, much less  _ anyone _ , but there he is hoping to speak for hours on end with someone who’s probably annoyed past the point of no return with his negativity.

 

after pouring his tea water and letting the tea steep for a good few minutes, he takes a sip and checks his phone. it’s not like anybody’s going to text or call him at 8 at night; they don’t text or call at any time. he’s got a couple of twitter notifications, but he never checks those. maybe he’ll text or call phil?  _ idiot _ . if phil wanted to talk, he would’ve already tried to reach out to him. now dan’s back in his head, getting mad at himself for something that isn’t entirely his fault. he realizes immediately after thinking it’s not his fault that it actually is.  _ god, howell. you are such a jerk. _

 

his thumb hovers over phil’s contact, unsure of whether he should call or text or completely avoid any and all contact with him forever.  _ there are so many things that could go wrong if dan calls him. _ considering how upset phil was when dan made the insinuation that breaking up with his girlfriend would be stuck in phil’s head until he actually did it, the curly-headed boy - whose sweater today is more reminiscent of the 60’s than the 80’s - throws his phone at the other end of the couch and drinks the rest of his tea. 

 

if dan has learned anything today, it’s that guzzling tea you’ve just made is a lot more harmful than just calling someone. 


	3. but hearts are breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phil's had a breakup and dan can't help but worry it was his fault.

phil never works wednesdays or thursdays, so dan goes two days without seeing him. phil also happens to not text dan during those two days. as one could imagine, the normal, healthy amount of overthinking ensues.

 

“normal” and “healthy” are actually “completely not okay” and “concerning” in disguise. dan lies on the couch and stares at the ceiling, unable to tell whether or not he’s about to cry. phil’s busy managing his own life, his own relationship. dan finds himself scanning the shelves in his favourite section - poetry, of course - to distract his mind from whether or not phil’s forgotten about him entirely. a warm, tired, and all-too-northern-to-be-anybody-else’s voice pipes up, drowning out the soft echoes of depeche mode playing on the speakers overhead. 

 

“hey, dan.” a pair of heavy eyes practically glares through him. phil’s usually-done-up hair is flat against his forehead. he’s in sweats, black sneakers, and an adventure time hoodie.  _ he looks broken. this isn’t him. _   
“phil, jesus. you look rough.”

“breakups will do that to you, i suppose.” 

“i’m off in a few minutes. do you want to go grab food or something once i clock out?”   
“actually, i was hoping to get a poetry recommendation from you. i’m in need of something dark and sad to make me feel better.” both boys go to reach for an edgar allan poe collection, but dan reaches back with hesitation.   
“well,” dan begins, putting the yeats assortment in his left hand back on the bottom shelf with the other books. “considering that it’s the breakup version of dark and sad and not the clinically depressed 27-year-old version of dark and sad, i think i know what you’ll need.” 

“what might that be?”   
“emily dickinson. she spent a huge part of her life in isolation, practically becoming a hollowed out shell of a human being and suffering extreme emotional distress. a lot of writing came out of that, y’know?”

“i took honours english. i know who she is, dan.”

“oh, great. well, here’s this.” he snags a book off the shelf and places it firmly in phil’s hands. “some of it’s really simple, and other bits are really complex. she’s a legend with metaphors.” dan’s placed his own sticky notes on each page to indicate which ones are which - this is merely a display book, and he reads it whenever he has the chance.

 

phil flips through, landing on “i felt a funeral, in my brain”. this causes dan to grin.    
  
“that one’s my favourite. i used to quote the one line about dragging a coffin that creaks along her soul, but only when i was talking about how english classes made me feel.” phil lets out a soft laugh, a little bit of light finding its way into his unusually dreary eyes. dan hates seeing him this way. “phil?”   
“what?”

“don’t be like me.” dan notices that the clock on his phone reads 17:00 and that he can leave. the two head toward the back office, where dan clocks out and grabs his jacket. 

“what do you mean by that?”    
“i mean, don’t go pulling your own heart out because someone else did. you’re the brightest, most brilliant human being i know. i don’t want to see that light go out.”   
“oh.”

“anyway, did you like the dickinson stuff? i’ve got the book back at my place if you’d care to borrow it.”

“that would be nice.” 

 

a few minutes, they’re underground awaiting the next train to dan’s neighbourhood. 

 

“i hate the tube, dan.”   
“why’s that?”   
“it smells god awful down here.”   
“well, it’s quicker and much more convenient than walking home. what do you do?”   
“i take the bus.”

“the bus?”   
“yeah. do you have a problem with that?”   
“crying children are even worse on the bus than they are on the tube.”   
“i suppose. anyway, how far away is your flat?”   
“about five stops. it’s not that long.”   
“fine.” their train arrives and they grab the first open seats available.

 

“dan?”   
“what?”   
“why should i not be like you? what is it that you don’t like about yourself  _ so much _ that you wouldn’t want anybody else to be that way?”   
“i’m cold, phil. i’m cold and i’m mean and i hate everything. that’s how i’ve always been. being cold  _ sucks _ because everyone else around you is warm. you’ve got only two options then - you either warm up or drain their warmth.” phil leans his head on dan’s shoulder, which visibly takes him by surprise. 

“i’m not sure why you call yourself cold and mean. you’re warm and nice.” 

“that’s how you are, phil. you’re the fucking sun, and i’m nothing but a black hole that sucks things in and expands darkness wherever he goes.”

“you only say that because it’s what you want people to think. i’ve never known you to be rude.”   
“we work together. you haven’t known me for more than a year.”   
“that’s been enough time, i think.” 

“god, phil. what don’t you understand? i know myself better than anybody does, and if that’s how i know myself, it’s how everyone else does.” 

“if you say so.” 

 

dan notices the overhead announcement telling them they’ve reached his neighbourhood stop. 

“here we are.” phil’s face immediately gains traces and tinges of confusion and anxiety. the tube is crowded at this time of night. 

“dan, i’m grabbing your hand. you’re not letting go until we get up those stairs. deal?” both boys extend their arms, holding tight onto one another’s hands. dan’s face heats up a little, and he’d never tell the wanderer trailing behind him, but phil’s got amazingly soft, warm hands. dan’s hands are always cold, so naturally, he thinks phil must be freezing. like he said before,  _ he’s always cold _ . this could just be a side effect.

 

the two eventually reach dan’s flat, where the younger struggles with his keys and the older places his hands in his back pockets. shortly after, they enter. dan immediately makes note of the fact that he left the kitchen light on, and that his blanket is still on the couch. 

 

“so, this is my place. you’re welcome to sit or wander. i just need to grab that dickinson book.”

“actually, i was kind of hoping i could stay over here tonight. my girlfriend left some stuff at my place and i don’t want to deal with looking at it.”

“i mean, i suppose that would work. let me grab that book and some blankets, and maybe we can watch something on netflix?” he nods and begins to inspect the living room shelves. dan runs to his room and grabs the emily dickinson book, taking a small moment to sit on his bed and process everything running through his head.

 

phil’s just gotten out of a relationship, made it a point to ask him for help, and has been consistently reassuring dan that he’s not a terrible person. if dan wasn’t so overly cynical, he’d suspect that he had something to do with phil’s breakup. then he remembers that he’s the reason phil was late to dinner with his girlfriend, and that one detail - that one soft smidge of a HINT that he may be responsible - sends him spiraling. 

 

does he like phil? does phil like him? do they like each other? is anything going to happen between the two of them? probably not, but dan needs time to consider every possible sequence of events that could take place.

 

“phil?”   
“yeah, dan?”   
“can you put some water on the stove for tea? i’ll be out in a second.”   
“of course!” phil does as he’s requested, and dan continues his minor freakout. 

 

five minutes later, phil comes upstairs searching for dan to inform him that the water for tea is done. dan’s got his knees pulled up to his chest, and he’s crying, and normally phil would ask what’s wrong. instead, the raven-haired boy simply finds a spot next to his curly-haired counterpart and leans against him. 

 

“are you alright?”   
“you know how it is, overthinking and worrying.”

“ah. i took the kettle off the stove, whenever you want tea.” 

“i’ll be down in a minute. here’s that book.” phil accepts the book and gives dan a strong, reassuring hug. 

“take a moment. i don’t want you getting too heated.” the two grin at each other before phil heads back out and dan regains his composure. 

  
_ too heated.  _ perhaps dan could be warming up after all, but it’s not in the way he’d like. 


	4. don't make me laugh, i'll choke.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys both learn something about one another.
> 
> dan also doesn't know how to control his words and phil's not sure if he's able either.

dan wakes up quite unbearably early the next morning to the sunlight breaking through his blinds. he could’ve sworn he drew his curtains shut last night.

 

“morning, dan!” phil comes in wearing one of dan’s sweatshirts and his own black jeans. both his socks are mismatched, but dan doesn’t pay that any mind. he’s more concerned as to why phil’s prepared an entire breakfast for him.   
“phil? are you insane? what time is it?”

“like, 7. i figured you’d like breakfast. at least, i felt like i should repay you for letting me stay here last night.”

“how’d you get one of my shirts?”   
“i did your laundry.”   
“you did what?”   
“i also reorganized your fridge and dish cabinets. you should get more food.”   
“christ on a bike, phil. you didn’t have to do that, y’know?”

“i felt the need. you didn’t have to let me stay, but you did.”

“i guess. what’s on the menu?”   
“hotcakes, eggs, and i can bring some almond milk up if you’d like.”

“i’m good with just the food. did you make yourself anything?”   
“yeah. are you coming downstairs to eat, or…”   
“you can bring your food up here, phil.” dan grabs his fork and starts eating one of the cakes. once again, he’s figured out something he’d never tell phil - his cooking is  _ marvelous _ . if phil was one of those professional chefs, dan would spend his entire life savings for him to cook every single meal for the rest of his life. then again, breakfast food is difficult to mess up. dan decides to not let phil’s culinary advantages get the best of him. 

 

“it’s friday, isn’t it?”   
“what do you mean, ‘isn’t it’? we both work today.”

“oh. i guess you’re right.”   
“you’re usually on top of this stuff, phil. you aren’t like yourself lately.”   
“look, dan, i’ve just gotten out of a relationship i was kind of hoping to keep going on for...i don’t know, forever? i’ve even had the ring picked out for a few months. i have the right to not be like myself.”   
“oh. i’m sorry.” phil’s displeased nature has dan feeling even more hopeless than he usually does. after all, phil’s been the only real positive thing in dan’s life for as long as he can remember, despite only being his tri-weekday coworker. if he loses his joy, dan loses everything he needs. 

 

the two finish their breakfast in a short amount of time. dan lies his head back against his pillow and turns to face away from the window. phil simply stays at the end of dan’s bed. they both remain silent, savouring whatever might be lying in the early morning silence.

 

“we have to go to work in an hour.”

“yeah.”   
“i’m not ready for work.”   
“neither am i.” phil shrugs and stands up, adjusting his skinny jeans and sighing. 

“oh well. it’s better than sitting around and feeling sorry for myself.” dan ponders phil’s statement for a second before getting up and out of his pyjamas. he dresses in a cozy sweater and some matching sweats, sliding on two identical black socks and a pair of slip-on vans. not the checkered ones, though. dan thinks those are ugly. 

 

“do you need anything before we leave, phil?”   
“not that i can think of. should i return this sweater to you?”   
“no. you can keep it. i think it suits you.” a small grin graces phil’s tired features, lighting up his eyes. dan smiles in spite of himself and the whole situation. 

“can i say something to you, dan?” the man’s voice sounds more timid than it usually does, and dan isn’t entirely braced for serious conversation this early in the morning.   
“i don’t care. it’s not like people tell me things on a normal basis.”

“well, you don’t talk to people on a normal basis, so it’s not a huge surprise.”   
“you’re right. anyway, what was it you were going to say?” the two head down the block to the station, phil trailing behind dan. 

“i think i might like guys.” the brunet stops in his tracks, turning to face him. “i just think that, though. i’m not sure.”

“yeah?”   
“mhm.”   
“cool. i do too.”   
“cool.”   
“yeah.” the station is crowded again, considering that it’s a friday and most people are out and about now. dan feels a clement grip on his hyperborean hand. “what makes you feel like that?”   
“well, i don’t like girls all that much. if i’m honest, that’s why i broke things off with my girlfriend. i just didn’t feel the same way she did.”

“ah. i mean, i like girls and guys. i just brush all feelings besides the negatives off, considering i hate everyone and everything.”

“how’d you figure it out?”   
“school dances, slumber parties, high school locker rooms. easy places to get bullied for staring too long.”   
“oh.  _ oh. _ ” phil lets out a mild snicker. dan joins him.

“anyway, my parents thought it was a phase. good thing they were wrong, because god. there are so many people i told before them.”

“yeah? is it nice to have it off your shoulders?”   
“mhm. really nice.” they board the train, phil’s hand still clasping dan’s. “you know we’re not in a huge crowd anymore, right?”   
“this feels nice.”   
“okay.” they both glance at each other, sharing a soft expression. 

 

dan can’t help but feel bad for phil, and vice versa. considering that phil’s in his early 30’s and he’s just now figuring it out, along with the fact that dan can’t tell whether he’s the cause for phil’s breakup, he’s a little frustrated. phil’s upset because he wish he’d known this about dan sooner. it could’ve relieved a lot of confusion for both of them, and he could’ve been a lot less annoying to dan all the while. 

 

“damn it, did i forget the dickinson book at the flat? i’m an idiot, oh god.” before dan can start his downward, downbeat spiral, phil pulls him back out.   
“i’ve got it in my left hand.”   
“oh. haha.”   
“even if you did forget it, we’ve got the one at work.”   
“i suppose you’re right.” 

“i could read a bit of it while we’re on this train, i suppose.” phil flips open the cover of  _ poems, series 2 _ and begins to scan the pages. 

 

“we’re at our stop now, phil.”   
“oh. i was hoping to keep reading.” this statement is the auditory equivalent of milk and honey to the black tea that is dan’s soul. everyone he’d ever met thought emily dickinson’s work was far too depressing to be enjoyable.    
“you can read more later.” 

“i guess.” they exit the station and head down the block to their dreaded workplace, hands still intertwined.

 

“dan?”   
“what is it, phil?”   
“i think i like you.” 

“ _ that’s funny. _ ”

“i’m being serious.”

“you can’t just like me, phil. you’ll tear yourself apart that way.”

“who are you to decide that for me?”   
“myself.”

“well, at least i allow myself to like people and places and things. you don’t let yourself like anything.  _ that’s _ how people tear themselves apart.”

“maybe i like it that way, phil.”

“well, i don’t like you that way.”   
“you don’t have to like me at all.”

“but i do! i like you and i don’t like that you don’t like anything.”

“you’re scared i don’t like you back, aren’t you?”

“i’m scared that you don’t like anything.”

“why are you so worried about it?”   
“because people drive themselves mad when they have nothing to look forward to, and when people drive themselves mad, bad things happen. you’re not the kind of person bad things are supposed to happen to.”   
“well, bad things happen to me all the time, so i suppose we’re both in the wrong here. can you just leave it alone now?” 

“god, fine. i’m sorry. i just want you to be happy.”   
“i haven’t been happy a day in my life. i don’t want to change and i certainly won’t if i don’t have to.”

“can we meet at halfway happy?”   
“no. let me clock in and leave me alone.”

  
that wasn’t how either of them wanted the conversation to go at all.   



	5. hey man, we all can't be like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan realizes that, amongst all of his hopelessness, there's something that's resisting it.

at the end of the shift, dan waits for a few minutes to see if phil’s going to migrate to his zone in the store.  _ he doesn’t.  _

 

dan heads to the back room and clocks out, grabbing his phone and jacket. he can’t expect anything good to come from getting his hopes too high, and he should’ve known better from the start. it’s not like it would’ve lasted long anyway, if they’d gotten together. phil would get tired of being around him all the time. everyone does. that’s why dan sits in a ponderous state of self-deprecation in his flat that’s way too big for him to live in alone, wrapped in decades-old, oversized sweaters and the bittersweet flavour of loneliness. 

 

the train ride home is quiet. dan wants nothing but to text phil - no, call him. texting in this situation would be insensitive - and apologize for giving him the cold shoulder. then again, dan’s so used to giving everyone the cold shoulder. should he even have to apologize for it? overanalysis and overthinking always bring out the worst in dan, and he always regrets it. 

 

there’s no laughter in loneliness, and there’s no solace in silence. dan knows this fully well, but he knows he couldn’t warm up his iced-black-coffee soul or open up his cold, aching heart if he tried with all the strength in his body. 

 

he stands in the doorway of his flat, which he notices is rather cold despite it only being october. maybe he should use that furnace his neighbours are always reminding him of. dan likes being able to crawl under a dozen blankets and remain cozy throughout the night, so he decides against it for the time being. his tired eyes glance across the dimly lit screen of his phone - which he notices he should plug in - to find that once again, he’s without notifications. normally, the fact wouldn’t bother him, but he feels bad about how he acted toward phil in phil’s time of struggling. then again, dan has never felt the need to change his attitude and isn’t about to just because some guy likes him. 

 

the time reads  _ 18:00 _ , which informs dan that he should do something with the rest of his evening. he would usually grab a book, make some tea, and lie on the carpet until he fell asleep. something tells him not to read, but he still makes tea. a bit of relaxation wouldn’t hurt, especially now. as he’s filling his kettle, he remembers that he should probably shower. then, he looks in the sink and realizes the lack of dishes (besides mugs, of course) and remembers he should eat. the kettle is placed in his kitchen sink with the most grace possible and he heads to his room to figure out what he’ll wear as pajamas. 

 

thirty minutes later, dan’s back in his kitchen fixing himself stirfry and boiling water for more tea. this makes him think that  _ maybe _ he should hold off on his tea consumption for a while. it’d save him quite a decent amount of moments that he could spend focusing on other matters of preoccupation. for the time being, however, dan will continue to pour himself a cup and steep a bag of chamomile, earl grey, or even peppermint whenever he damn well pleases. he removes the pan from the heat and pours water from the steaming kettle once it starts to squeal. 

 

he’s been completing this nighttime ritual by himself since he moved out of his parents’ place. nobody’s ever needed to help him; nobody’s ever needed to be there with him. that’s exactly how dan wants it, he realizes as he takes a sip of his scorching earl grey. after pouring some milk and honey into his tea, dan returns to his thought process. sure, having phil in the flat that morning to wake up and converse with was pleasant, but he doesn’t need that for the rest of his life or anything. or does he? hell, dan doesn’t know what he wants half the time.   
  


the black iphone on the counter vibrates gently against the marble surface, causing dan to surface from his brain and check his screen. phil’s sent him a message. 

 

**call me?**

 

dan sighs and dials phil’s number. it barely rings twice before he picks up.

 

“hey, dan. i’m sorry for not checking in on you.”

“you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“well, telling someone you like them is a lot to spring on someone just to avoid them immediately afterward.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“are you sure? i kind of wanted to talk to you about it.”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“you’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

“i don’t know why i would be.”   
“that’s a relief. i was hoping-”   
“i don’t know if you’ve picked this up or not, phil, but hope isn’t my strongest suit. try a different word.”   
“you know what? i didn’t even say anything about you or your pessimism or the fact that you hate everything. will you let me finish?”   
“god, fine.”

“anyway, i was hoping i could talk to you about it more.”

“out with it, then.”

“i like when you smile or laugh. you don’t do it a lot, but when you do, it kind of makes my heart light up. i’m not sure why.”   
“and?”   
“and i like that you listen to me when i need you to.”   
“mhm?”   
“i just think it’s nice that i can rely on someone. i like relying on you.”   
“so i’m nothing but a brick wall for you to lean against when you need balance?”   
“no. can you quit jumping to the worst possible conclusion for just a moment and listen to me? i like you. i like spending time with you. i like train rides, and i like sidewalk steps, and i like early mornings with you.” dan’s whole face feels like it’s set afire. his lonely routines are somehow entertaining to phil, and that makes him feel some sort of pleasant way about himself.

“oh.”

“you don’t have to feel the same, dan. don’t feel pressured or any-”

“it’s alright, phil.”

“well, that’s all, i suppose. i’ll catch you monday, then?”   
“how about tomorrow? we could get coffee or breakfast or something, considering i had to put off our one coffee date anyway.”

“ _ date? _ sounds pretty hopeful for the most hopeless person i know.”   
“i mean, you like me and you had a set time for coffee. sounds like a date to me.”

“hmm. how does 10 work? there’s this little diner near my flat that i think you’d really like.”

“sure. i’ll see you then.” 

“alright. see you tomorrow.” dan hangs up and tosses his phone on the couch. he can’t help but sit on the floor in the middle of his kitchen and grin like an idiot. while he kneels and smiles there, he starts to wonder if any of this is good for him, for phil. what if phil realizes that dan’s too much to deal with? dan’s going to drive him off. he drives everyone off. 

 

then again, phil’s still around. obviously something right is happening between the two of them.


	6. i want you to stop insisting that i’m not a lost cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI SORRY IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED OH LORD

dan shifts nervously in his windowside seat, wondering if he should’ve even suggested the plans for breakfast in the first place. phil pushes the door to the little diner open, running a hand through his hair and adjusting the collar of his button-up. dan looks phil up and down and feels terribly underdressed in his sweatpants and hoodie ensemble. 

 

“hey. sorry if i’m late.”   
“you’re actually a few minutes early. i just worried i’d be here late so i got here ten minutes ago.”   
“you didn’t have to wait that long without ordering. i mean, you waited that long anyway, so…”

“it’s all good. i’m trying to decide whether i want coffee or tea.”   
“i’ve had a lot of tea this week, so i’m going to go with coffee.”

“god, tell me about it. i can’t sleep or think straight without it.”

“you should see a doctor, that way you don’t have to rely on tea.”   
“maybe.” a waitress comes to the table to hand them menus and ask which drinks they’d like. they both order coffee. dan scans the menu while phil folds his hands and rests them on the table. he told dan that he eats breakfast here every single sunday. his order hasn’t changed in a long time.

 

“i finished reading that dickinson collection.”

“yeah? did you enjoy it?”

“yeah. she seems a little bit tortured, though. a lot of her writing is overly angsty.”

“you asked for stuff to read post-breakup. i gave you the glorious woman that is emily dickinson.” the waitress returns with two mugs filled with what dan jokingly refers to as “bean water.” phil drinks his coffee black while dan pours a bunch of half-and-halfs and sugars into his coffee. after a few moments, they let the waitress know what they want to eat. 

 

“you know you didn’t have to dress up today, right?”   
“i was planning on going shopping after this, so i just wore what i’d usually wear.”

“ah.” they both go to pick up their mugs. dan moves his hand back, letting phil take a drink of coffee before he proceeds. “do you want any more to read?”   
“sure. maybe not dickinson this time, though? she’s too much of a downer.” 

“got it. i’ll bring you something new on monday.” 

“y’know, the trees look nice outside. i always love this time of the year. when all the leaves turn colours and fall? i love that.”

“it’s just a sign that everything’s dying.”   
“it’ll come back though.”

“yeah. but everything’s dying.”

“why do you feel the need to make everything sad, dan? what’s hurt you that badly in your life?” phil’s question causes dan to take a long pause, breathing in and gulping a long swig of coffee. 

“i mean, nothing’s really ever hurt me. my mind just gets the best of me.”   
“do you think you don’t deserve happiness?”   
“why does it matter to you?”   
“because i do. i think you deserve happiness. you deserve to feel like life is worth living.”   
“nothing’s going to change me from feeling the way i do, phil. it’s just part of who i am.”

“you don’t really believe that, do you?”   
“oh look, there’s our food.” they both receive their plates and dan immediately starts by dousing his scrambled eggs in ketchup. “see? i’ve always put ketchup on my eggs. that’s part of who i am.” 

“well, not every part of you is the best, but eggs with ketchup is something i agree on.” phil pours some maple syrup on his buttered hotcake. his post-bite smile is warm -  _ a sight for sore eyes _ , dan thinks. he makes note of the fact that phil’s eyes grin with the rest of his face. dan’s never known himself to smile that much. there’s not a whole lot to smile about in the world; at least, there’s nothing worth it to him. the light from the window next to their table pools in through the blinds, shining in horizontal lines against both of their faces. phil thinks dan is absolutely gorgeous with the sunlight catching his cheekbones, his eyelashes, everything. he could sit here and stare forever.

 

that’s when the waitress brings the bill.

 

after they finish paying and start to head out, phil offers for dan to come over to his flat. 

 

“it’s lonely. i guess i just want someone around.”   
“is that all you want? for someone to be around?” 

“i mean, that’s the main thing, i think.”   
“so i’m just someone you want to have around that way you aren’t lonely?”

“that’s not what i mean at all, dan.”

“well, you know me. even when i’m not a burden, i make myself into one.” 

“that isn’t true.”

“look, phil. my head and reality are in two different processes. two different places. no matter what you tell me, it’s very rare that i’m actually going to believe you. i don’t even think i’m deserving of how kind you are to me.”

“it’s time that changes. i mean, it comes from a very genuine place. you shouldn’t have to feel that way though. okay?”

“sure. your flat’s just over there, yeah?” phil nods, taking dan’s hand in his and crossing the street. 

“it’s so bright in here.”

“your place is just grey and black with a few accents here and there. this isn’t all that bright either. just different colours.”

“yeah, it’s bright.” the two notice they’re still standing hand-in-hand and immediately look up at each other. dan’s ice-cold hand retreats ever so defensively into his pocket and his eyes trail to the floor. 

 

in all his years, dan’s never found any reason to open up to anybody. there’s a  _ lot _ he’s gone through that he’d never even tell his parents, but he’s standing here in the living space of his coworker for whom he’s slowly falling, and that’s when it hits him. 

 

“phil, i like you.”

“hm?”

“i like you. okay? there it is.”

“well, that’s a relief. are we a thing now?”

“do you even want to be? i mean, with me?”

“i can’t find a reason not to.”

“cool, cool.”

“you have to let me wear one of those sweaters of yours, though. it’s a wonder how they make fabric that soft.”


	7. if it's alright by you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oooh boy it's been a long heckin time since i uploaded anything. here we go
> 
> y'know those moments on fall out boy albums where the song says the title and you're like WHOA that happened because this is like that only with paramore

“hey, dan?” phil’s sat in the children’s literature section on an incredibly comfy chair reading spider-man comics while dan stocks shelves. by now, they’ve gone for about five sunday morning breakfasts. 

“what’s up?” 

“do you want to get starbucks tonight?”

“that sounds good. what time is it right now?” a slightly crooked nose perched over a slightly crooked smile sits in between two perfectly-centred eyes, both of which focus in on the slightly blurry numbers at the top of the screen. “about 4:15.”   
“we’re out in 45 minutes. do you wanna grab some from the starbucks across the street?”

“anywhere’s fine.”   
“across the street it is.” dan’s snappy remark is enough to make phil chuckle. the design of dan’s sweater resembles the carpet in a roller rink, his hair is so messily put-together, and his mocha eyes can’t help but follow phil’s slightly clumsy figure as he saunters over to the vinyl shelves. his dimples grow along with his smile, and he quickly catches himself. with a typical dan frown, he returns to the edgar allan collection in his left hand. 

 

phil returns some time later with a few records in his grasp. 

  
“i found some kajagoogoo, arctic monkeys, and taylor swift.”   
“nice. i’ve been eyeing that record,” he points to white feathers by kaja, “but i don’t have a record player.”   
“no problem. i’ve got one in my room.”

“no way!”

“yeah. it’s nice to have around.”

“i’ve always wanted one.”   
“judging by your sweaters, i’m surprised you don’t.” 

“yeah…”

“have you ever read anything by e.e. cummings?”   
“who?”   
“you’re joking.”

“no, i can’t say i am.”

“my older brother martyn lent me one of his books when i went to visit my family last week. i told them about you. i suppose i just got really excited to have you as a friend. didn’t tell them we’re a thing, though. martyn asked what you like and i said you’re really into poetry. i explained that you always read emily dickinson and edgar allan poe, and martyn handed me a book of some of his works. he said you could use a lovely bright break from the drab and dreary. care to read?”   
“i can read it, i suppose. doesn’t mean i’m going to like it.”

“that’s alright. i’d just like for you to look at everything a little bit more positively.”

“and if i don’t, will you hate me?”   
“why would i hate you for how you experience your life?”

“i don’t know. i just don’t want you to stop liking me.”   
“christ on a boat.” phil chuckles, “is that what you say?”   
“christ on a bike, philip.” the two burst into a fit of giggles. it’s very odd, in phil’s eyes, to even listen to dan’s voice doing anything that isn’t complaining, reciting 80’s lyrics and poems, or reveling in the idea of breakfast food. 

 

and this is when phil realizes that the most lovely things about dan are the incredible rarities. when he wakes up to call him and his voice is  _ so _ incredibly raspy until he wakes up more. when a david bowie song comes on over the intercom and dan twirls through the aisles. when they’re sat on the couch watching star wars or something of the like and dan leans in against phil, resting his worried head on his chest and eventually falling asleep to his heartbeat. 

 

when dan’s smiling.

 

“know what’s lovely? you’re laughing.” dan immediately pauses.

“no, i’m not.” dan knows he sounds stupid and insecure, and frankly, he wishes he didn’t have to lie to himself like this. he knows there’s no harm in showing that he’s content or amused, but there’s just some sort of force in him that prevents all positivity from receiving validation.

“you...never mind. i’m not even going to bother. what time is it now, anyway?”   
“4:41.”

“i’m gonna go ring these records up and ask if we can head out early. it’s a little slow anyway, i’m sure nancy won’t have a problem.” he’s right in that statement; nancy’s just a sweet old lady who wants to make everyone happy. it’s a wonder she only wanted to start managing a few years ago.

“go ahead.” phil traipses away and dan sits silently, confused as to why he’s so concerned with anyone thinking he’s happy. he knows that he’s not happy, but there are many moments where he’s content, and when he’s content, he doesn’t want to show it. 

 

why is that? why can’t he just be content with being content? he can’t exactly break down the bits and pieces and parts, but dan supposes it’s always been a problem, and he simply hasn’t taken the time to sit down and analyze it. phil returns with his phone in one hand and their jackets in the other. 

“you ready?” dan nods and takes his windbreaker from phil, leaving his hand down for a few seconds in hopes that phil will grab it. he does, surely enough, and the two clock out. 

 

“what are you going to get?”

“i’m thinking of trying the pumpkin spice. i can only assume it tastes good if it tastes like pumpkin.”   
“i think it’s good. i’ll get the chai creme frappuccino. do you wanna go up and order? i’ve got some phone calls to make to the family.”

“sure. is something wrong?”   
“no, everything’s fine. here, take my card. i’ll pay.” dan sighs and takes phil’s card. 

 

in the farthest corner of the starbucks, on a small couch, phil’s scrolling through his contacts. he can’t decide how he’s going to tell his family about dan and what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to wait until christmas to surprise them. he knows his parents will be more than supportive; they always have been. he’s just worried about what everyone else will think. he figures he should start with his parents and work from there. 

 

dan stares at the notification-lacking lockscreen on his phone, wondering what his parents would’ve thought if he was hanging out with guys like phil in high school. it probably would’ve been easy to disguise any trace of the two being together, considering mr. and mrs. howell would’ve just been happy to see dan hanging out with others. he wasn’t too social as a child and he still really isn’t, but phil’s changing that very subtly and dan doesn’t mind. 

 

“order for daniel?”

“uh, yes. thanks!” he grabs the two frappuccinos, pocketing his phone beforehand and heading over to phil. considering that his sable-haired conterpart is deep in conversation on the phone, he sits phil’s drink in front of him and takes a seat across from phil.  

 

after a few seconds, phil hangs up the phone and takes a long sip. “so, i told my mum about us. she seems fine with it. she asked if you want to come with me for christmas. she’s going to tell my dad and my brother just so that they’re aware when you’re around. if you don’t want to come, that’s okay. i understand.”

“i don’t have anything better to do for christmas. i might as well.”

“thank you.”

“for what?”   
“i don’t know. being kind to me? i never really saw the possibility of you actually wanting to hang out with me.”

“why’s that?” 

“because you never made it a point to try and talk to me at work.”

“why do you think that is?”   
“beause you thought you had better things to do with your time?”   
“no. because it’s work and not social hour.” phil laughs quietly to himself. “honestly, i admire your optimism. i don’t know what it is about me that just prevents me from enjoying everything. my glasses are always grey-tinted. something about you is different. always has been.”

“everything’s rose-coloured to me.”

“mm. y’ever heard rose-colored boy by paramore? it’s the perfect blend of modern punk and 80’s pop. i love it.”

“are you kidding? i love paramore.”

“good. then i hope you don’t mind rose-colored boy being my song for you.”

“it fits.”

  
  



	8. a half-empty girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they kisS  
> also very angsty sorry  
> phil takes some time to consider dan's state of mind  
> dan says some very important words  
> it's a great time  
> also im sorry i haven't uploaded in so long  
> thank you to people who've actually stuck around. that means a lot to me.   
> i've been doing inktober prompts in oneshot format so i've been putting a lot of time into that  
> oh well here's chapter 8. i know it's probably too short for all the time i've taken but meh  
> enjoy!!

snowy weather, chilled bones, hot chocolate on the coffee table, a colourful knitted sweater that used to belong to dan’s father in the 90’s, and two pale hands rested gently on firm shoulders - that’s how it starts. phil’s eyes are met with dan’s and the latter’s mouth parts ever so slightly. phil would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped this would happen sooner, but he’s glad it’s happening now. dan still feels nervous about it; he’s never even kissed anybody before, let alone trusted anyone to get this close. 

 

“are you going to kiss me? or are you just going to stare at me until i kiss you?”   
“i mean, i’d like if you’d kiss me. i’ve never…”   
“never…? wait, oh my god. am i your first kiss?”   
“you will be if you would just hurry up already.” phil laughs and leans in, colliding his lips with dan’s. both still have the taste of hot chocolate fresh on their breath, and dan wishes everything could be this sweet all the time. the younger isn’t quite sure how this is supposed to work, so he figures he’ll just let phil take it from here. 

 

phil’s kind, extremely gentle, and smooth in what he does. it’s almost as if dan doesn’t have to do anything; his lips move in synchronicity with phil’s and every bit of it is as enjoyable as the last. 

 

in the moments where they break, whether it’s for air or to talk or both, they find pleasure in each other’s presence. 

 

this is confusing to daniel, to say the least. many new things have happened and he’s not sure how to process all of them. he’s letting phil close to him, he’s figuring himself out, he’s having his first kiss in the middle of his twenties. the worst part is that he’s wishing all of these things could’ve come more easily to him. dan’s unaware of it, but he’s just staring at phil as all these things run through his head. 

 

“dan?”   
“hm?”   
“are you alright?”   
“i think i love you.” 

“are you sure?”   
“i believe so.”   
“you, daniel james howell, loving someone?”   
“i mean, it’s not entirely unbelievable, is it?”   
“i just thought it would’ve taken you longer to say that.”

“i thought it would’ve too.”

“so what might have changed in that heart of yours that would make you decide you could love someone?”   
“i’ve never been incapable of loving anybody. i think i just needed someone who would love me back.” those words send heart-shattering tsunami-level waves through phil’s chest, an echo of all he wishes he could say to his half-empty boy losing itself in the process. 

 

“can you please just kiss me again? i’m tired of just sitting here and thinking. it hurts.”   
“yeah. i’m sorry.” so phil does as dan asks, freckling his face with kind little pecks and attempting not to feel bad for him. it’s very difficult, phil notes. what dan doesn’t vocalize in sadness or general distaste he more than makes up for in tone of voice and general body language. it’s as if the moment one star falls from the sky, the moon and all her sisters come careening down as well. this is what makes him the most upset to think about; if phil feels dan’s sadness on this intense of a level, what the hell is he feeling? and why does he have to feel like that?

 

above all, why doesn’t anybody else feel exactly like that?

  
  



	9. just let me cry a little bit longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan sees someone he hasn't seen in a while. 
> 
> the reunion, to put it lightly, doesn't go well.
> 
> he also meets someone new. someone who can actually help his state of mind.
> 
> wow! another chapter in the same month (same week, too!!!) as the last one? this is unreal, especially for me!
> 
> enjoy, loves!

“i’m just happy we were able to meet again, daniel, if only for a bit. it’s been a while since any of the family has seen you, you know?” her condescending tone rattles dan’s bones, and he’s visibly upset.

“oh, shove off mum.” if his eyes could roll back any further into his head, they would. “i just want to get my groceries and get out of here.”   
“well, considering i haven’t seen my son in a solid few years, i’d like to speak to him a bit before he up and disappears from in front of my eyes again.”   
“you don’t get the right to act like this to me anymore. i’m a fully grown man and i really shouldn’t have to speak to you if i don’t want to.”

“i would still like to just know you’re faring well on your own.”   
“i promise you, mrs. howell, he’s doing just fine without you.” phil grabs dan’s sweater sleeve with his right hand and continues pushing the trolley with his left. “better off, in fact.”

“good riddance.” she sighs an exasperated breath of defeat and walks out with her grocery bags, clutching onto them a bit too strongly. tired, wrinkled white knuckles seem to match the skin around her eyes; she’s grown quite a lot and so has her son. 

 

“what’s her deal?”   
“she thinks she’s entitled. i suppose you know now who i get it from.” 

“you don’t act anything like she does, though.”   
“maybe it’s because she has no shame in anything she does. i at least know my place. plus, she’s far more idealistic and much less realistic than i am.”

“i can see that,” phil begins, ringing up the items in the cart. “i definitely understand why you moved away from home. what was she doing around here, anyway?”   
“adrian’s starting uni this year and she’s helping him stock his dorm. at least, that’s what he’s told me in text conversations. he and nan are pretty much the only members of my family i speak to anymore, and that’s just about as rare.”

“well,” he hands dan two bags and takes the other three, returning the trolley to its original place. “you’ve obviously made the right choice for yourself if you’ve ended up being as good of a person as you are. at least, compared to your mother.”

 

\---

 

dan thinks of the market interaction and his mother’s words as he walks down the blue-sky hallway. his head and his heart are racing as he knocks on the door. 

 

“come on in!” a woman with a grey knitted cardigan and bright blue eyes welcomes him into her office. she stands at what dan would consider the average height for a woman of her stature, her eyes framed by rose gold rimmed glasses. she has a considerably maternal presence, despite dan not knowing exactly what that should be like. a firm handshake is his greeting, his dark eyes falling to the floor as he takes a seat across from the her. 

 

“so, i know we talked a bit on the phone, dan. i’ve got all that stuff written down. what i’d like to know is all the specifics.”   
“i guess i’d just like to start with the negativity. i don’t know why i’m like this. any time something good happens, i look for everything bad in the situation. i don’t really allow myself to feel anything good.”   
“how long do you think you’ve been like this?”   
“i can’t remember a time i wasn’t a pessimist.”   
“well, that might be the first problem. and your childhood, how was it? i know you said you weren’t too close with your parents.”   
“we haven’t spoken since i was 17. i saw my mum at the store earlier and i just wanted to get away from her as soon as i could.”   
“did she ask how you’re doing?” 

“i mean, she did, but i think it was just to reassure herself.”

“ah. tell me more about her.” so he does. dan explains when he came out, when his parents both turned him away, how he was kind of on his own with the exception of his brother until he moved out of the house. she nods, adjusting those rose gold glasses of hers and jotting some things down in her notepad.

 

“it’s very difficult to try and depend on anyone or allow yourself to become dependent on them when you’ve missed out on that opportunity so many times before.”   
“yeah. i think it might just be a probem of mine in general. i was never too close to them, so when they both drifted from me i didn’t take it too hard.”

“at least you’re strong, dan.” she gives him a warm grin of reassurance. “i think that when we go through these kinds of trials and tribulations, we begin to distance ourselves from others as a natural defense.”

“that would make sense. i’ve got a boyfriend. his name is phil, he’s the sweetest person i’ve ever met. i was so mean to him for the longest time before i finally decided to just listen to him and that’s when i fell in love. we talk about poetry and my sweaters and i just like to be around him.”   
“that’s lovely, dan! you’re at least trying to be more positive about people, not questioning their ulterior motives if any may exist.”

“he’s the closest to love i’ve ever been. i’m just worried that if i don’t become a happier person or at least try to do so, he’s going to find someone else. someone better than me.”   
“why would you think that?”   
“he gets sad when i’m sad. i think that boy feels a lot more than just his own emotions. it’s a blessing and a curse.”

“he sounds like he understands you, though. this can be good.”

 

dan sits quietly for a few moments before responding. the counselor gazes at him patiently, awaiting a response.

 

“understands. that’s a good word.”

“is there anything else you want to talk about while we’re on the topic of understanding?”

“i think i might be depressed?”   
“well, this is obvious. i knew that when you first spoke to me.”   
“but it’s not like how i hear about depression.”   
“and how’s that?”   
“well, when you hear them talk about it on medication commercials it’s like constant sadness, not wanting to get out of bed, being out of energy.”   
“mhm?”   
“i’m not sad all the time.”   
“well, you must remember that depression isn’t just sadness, daniel. depression bares its fangs in many forms, and sadness brings it on.”

“i suppose. i’ve never had the actual insight of a professional.”

“it can be helpful for many to start therapy, even if the problem isn’t severe. finding it out in the first place is what helps you find solutions to get better. the fact that you’re actually coming in and starting to find solutions for your problems is amazing in itself.” dan nods and rests his back against his chair.

“so, why do you think i don’t allow myself to be happy?” dan starts, readjusting. “is there some sort of process the brain has to go throught to get to that point?”   
“well, it could be a matter of guilt. do you ever give up your own free time to help others?”   
“i work in retail. that’s most of my job.” they both share a small chuckle before he continues. “in all serious, though, yes. i think it’s more gratifying to me when i help others than when i step back to help myself. when i’m alone with my own problems, my head gets dark and i feel wrong for it.” 

“have you always been this type of person?” she grabs her pen and continues her notes.

“i think so. like i said, i’ve had to be independent for prolonged periods of time. it’s nice showing people how to be independent.”   
“you’re the type of person to give great advice and then not follow it yourself, wouldn’t you think?” 

“i would say so.”   
“well, our appointment’s almost up, dan. any final thoughts before i send you on your way?”   
“yeah. is there anything wrong with me that needs to be medicated?”   
“i may write up a couple of prescriptions if you think it’s necessary, but i wouldn’t say they’re “wrong” with you. see, you seem to have a really negative perception of disorder.” when dan hears the term “disorder”, his thoughts begin to swarm with echoes of the word. he’s never thought there’s something off in his head; his realism simply overtakes all other feelings. 

 

\---

 

“where are you heading, dan?”

“the pharmacy. do you care to join?”   
“pharmacy? what for?”

“i have disorders, phil. diagnosable issues that need medication.”

“well, at least you know what’s wrong.”

“it just. i don’t know. it doesn’t sit right with me.”   
“it’s because you’ve never had anyone professionally tell you something’s wrong. she knows what she’s talking about, dan.”   
“i guess.”   
“let’s go get your meds, okay?” dan nods and grabs his jacket, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
